Terri Weeding

boost your memory.

I promise I’m not messing with you.

I read this amazing tip in Prevention Magazine. September Issue 2009.

Here are the instructions. Block your right nostril, but if you use a finger to do this, don’t insert it up the nose. Otherwise, you’ll look and sound like a creepy nose-picker. (The last bit is my own advice)

Now, breathe 27 times in and out through the left nostril. You can do this a couple times a day as needed, but no more than four times a day. Don’t ask me why there’s a limit.

Then Voila! You’ll instantly remember that which has eluded you.

However,if you try this memory activating exercise, your kid might say, “Mom, are you like having a heart attack? Do you need a paper bag or something?”

If this happens, drop your finger immediately and cease the single nostril yoga breathing so that you can reassure your frightened child. “Why no, honey. Mom’s just trying to remember where she parked the car.”

Your child might respond like this. “Ah, Mom. Please don’t ever do that in front of me or anyone else again. Okay?”

But at that precise moment,your memory kicks in and you remember where you parked the car. And you vow to practice it four times a day, every single day. Because you need the memory boost. You need it real bad. So you shake your head in regret and say, “Sorry. I can’t make that promise.”

Your child sighs. Her shoulders droop.

And you can’t wait to read the next issue of Prevention magazine.

Let’s start with the “duh”. Laughter is good for you. The doctors say so. The shrinks say so. I say so.

Five things laughter does for you
1.Lowers the risk of heart disease.
2.Increases your happiness level.
3.Tightens your stomach muscles.
4.You look nicer.
5.You feel nicer.

The movie, “Hangover,” made a pile of dough last summer. For one BIG, no brainer reason. It was hysterical!!

I laughed so hard I cried. I laughed so loudly my husband had to hush me multiple times. Afterward, my stomach ached but in a good way. I felt exhilirated and relaxed at the same time! As an adult, how often does that happen anymore?

I’m a multi-tasking, super-responsible woman with a husband and children, so I seek out every opportunity to bust a gut. Comedy clubs. Funny movies and tv shows. YouTube videos. Books. My children. Cartoon strips. Myself. Jokes. My husband. The dog. The cat. The list is endless.

Levity enriches life. It makes it bearable. It makes it fun.

I say laugh more and live better!

I got a new look going on.  Well, I’m a work in progress, but who isn’t? My home page features my blog now. Yep, it will be in your face every time you hit my site. I’ll be showing videos of moi talking about VIP things like humor, books (paper and e), and other stuff I haven’t thought up yet.   Expect more pictures. More videos of interesting topics Like CORVETTE BARBIE!!   Expect more interaction.  I want your comments. I want your words. Poems, jokes, quotes, excerpts, funny little tidbits, and so on. I truly believe laughter will SAVE US ALL from a stress implosion. It should tighten our abs as well.

Food.
The whole gang.
I now know I can have a happy, healthy relationship with EVERBODY.
Cause it’s okay to be friends with a little creamy, buttery, warm, and soft, silky smooth, etc., etc.
We just can’t hang out ALL the time.
ONE cookie is great.
Man, I nibble at that ONE cookie with a great big smile on my face.
Then I say, “later dudes,” and walk away.
The best part is…
I’m still losing a couple pounds a week.
I’m no longer mad.
I’m no longer sad.
And my sense of humor has returned.
Hallelujah!
I’m back!

not my marriage, silly people! Husband is good. He’s alive and, no, I told you before, the book is not about him.
I’m talking about the break-up of my relationship with all my favorite foods. You see, I’ve been indulging in dozens of affairs with, well everything creamy and rich, and salty, and savory, and soft and warm, and buttery, and sweet, and …
Oh,mamma! It hurts too much to talk about them!
You see I’ve made a choice to relinquish my darlings for an uptight, hard-ass, humorless, buzz-wrecking, DIET.
This DIET is supposed to CLEAN out all the crapola in my system and make me skinnier.
Problem is I love crapola and I know, I KNOW it loves me back.
“I can’t live, if living is without you.” This song plays in my head continously. Imagine me singing it softly while swaying back and forth.
Well, of course I can live, but life has lost its luster.
I feel despondent without my good-time friends.
I have crazy dreams about food. Last night I dreamed somebody stole my breadsticks (I suspect these hard little rods may not actually qualify as food) and left me with Melba Toast which I can’t for the life of me choke down.
Am I destined to become thin but sad?
Will I no longer be able to write humor?
The answer to these questions and more … next week.

So you want people to think you’re funny.

You want evidence in the form of a physical reaction to verify that YOU ARE SIMPLY HYSTERICAL.

A snort, a roar, a chuckle, a giggle, a guffah, a shriek, a snicker, a convulse, a cackle, a chortle, a whoop, even a LOL text will confirm for you that indeed, you are the King or Queen of making people laugh.

I say to you aspiring humor writers, Delivery is key.

Delivery is as important as the hilarious lines you had difficulty typing because you were cracking yourself up so bad you could barely see the page.

Delivery is the catapult, the mechnism that launches those hilarious lines straight at someone’s funny bone. Without it, your humor just sits there. Harmless. Impotent. Inactive. NOT FUNNY.

Ponder this revelation.

Then return to learn how to build a catapult to launch your nuggets of humor and obtain everlasting glory.

I’m looking for a new car.
Something way smaller than the bus I drive now.
Something sporty, edgy, fun. I want a stick shift. I want a sun roof. I want a six speaker Bose stereo system so I can blast my 70′s music.
I want a Mazda 5 Speed hatchback in white or blue. Problem is … car shopping sucks.
My friend just shared with me the details of her experience.
“They” tried every trick in the book. Multiple psychological assaults. Good cop. Bad cop. And so on. She was in their show room for 6 HOURS with her two kids!!
My friend is one tough, well-informed, chick. They were unable to break her. But she left utterly depleted. She couldn’t sleep that night because of her interrogation-like car buying experience.
I don’t know if I’m as strong as my friend. But I do have one thing going for me.
I’m a little wacky. No, make that a lot a wacky.
“Zoom, zoom, zoom.” The song’s been’s stuck in my head since I’ve started looking at the Mazda 5 Speed hatchback in white or blue.
So, here’s my plan to outwit “them.” My husband and I will go to the showroom together. He’ll do the talking. While he’s doing the talking, I’ll do the singing.
“Zoom, zoom, zoom.”
Like a crazy woman,I’ll sing the words.
Over and over again.
“Zoom, zoom, zoom.”
Until I drive them mad.
“Zoom, zoom, zoom.”
Until they break and hand me the keys to my white or blue Mazda 5 speed hatchback without further ado.
“Zoom, zoom, zoom.”

I hate, hate, hate, shopping for clothes.
“What? But you’re a woman! You can’t hate shopping,” a reader exclaims.
“I can hate it if I want,” I respond, hand on my hips.
Let me tell you why I despise it with every bone in my body.

1. I’m a tightwad. Shopping means handing over money. I wear my clothes until they fall apart. I’ll even pick up a needle and thread to avoid buying new ones. And sewing is a close second on the hate list, right behind ironing.

2. I’m indecisive. For instance, I’ve been looking for a new purse for TWO YEARS. And that’s just one item. Trying to shop for a complete outfit with accessories just about kills me.

3. I’m suffering from an identity crisis. I don’t know what image I want to convey. Wait! That’s a lie. I do know. Once a girl jock always a girl jock. Problem is wearing sweats pants and t-shirts all the time just doesn’t cut it. I get away with it 75% of the time because I’m a writer. But 25% of the time I need to look…like…I don’t know!!

4. Trying on clothes is a nightmare. The lights in the dressing rooms suck. Don’t get me started on the mirrors. It’s a sweaty, exhausting, depressing, experience.

Nothing looks good. EVER! And I hate putting clothes back on the hangers. If I could afford it, I would have my clothing custom-made for my curvy, narrow shouldered, short-armed, muscular-thighed, round-butted figure.

Ah ha! Could that be the problem? My hard-to-fit figure? Is this why I hate shopping? That and the ten pounds I really need to lose?

Pondering… Pondering… Nah!

Shopping for clothes just sucks.

Sometimes a reader strikes gold.

Sometimes she get really lucky and strikes it three times in a row.

1. The Girl Who Played With Fire Stieg Larsson

2. The Magicians Lev Grossman

3. Gargoyle Andrew Davidson

Common characteristics: Unusual protaganists and plots. Strong secondary characters. Brillant dialogue and descriptions. Witty. Suspensful. Poignant.

Had trouble putting all three down. Real life can be so annoying.

It’s been a great ride.

Really great.

This post is about a scapegoat. An astrological scapegoat, Mercury Retrograde. If the last few weeks of your life have been … suckie … this scapegoat dedication goes out to you.

Do you appear to be moving backward?

Refrain: (I like to sing it) Blame it on Mercury Retrograde.

Are you experiencing communication difficulties in every area of your life?

Blame it on Mercury Retrograde.

Are you feeling stymied?

Blame it on Mercury Retrograde.

But never fear, it’s all over now.

So long, Mercury Retrograde.

Now I need to take responsibility for my life again.

I’ll miss you, Mercury Retrograde.